Sona's spare time
by Clocktwerk
Summary: I wanted to write a funny Sona story, but I also wanted to write some Smut, this is what happened.


After a long day on the fields of Justice, much of which was spent listening to the special snowflakes of the "AD Carry Club," groan about how the jungler never ganked for them, Sona Buvelle needed to unwind. Unlike most of the wealthy ladies of Ionia and Demacia, Sona did not take long bubble baths with expensive oils to unwind, nay, Sona spent her free time writing. Although music was not what came forth from her mind during this time. For Sona had a dirty little secret that no one could find out about or her musical career would surely be ruined; you see, Sona wrote and sold "romance," novels in her spare time under the assumed name of "Sexton Hardcastle" For while her music moved the soul, her written word moved the libido.

Clasping her hands above her head and stretching her arms out so her dainty palms faced the ceiling, cracking her knuckles in anticipation, Sona sat before her trusty Typewriter. It was a glorious thing that typewriter. Intricate paneling, ivory keys, fantastic tactile feedback, and it never judged her for the filth she had it spew forth.

Sona's fingers caressed the keys as she thought about what she would write that day. Smooth keys felt familiar to her fingers as she strummed out a different melody, a clacking, lecherous melody. Taking a moment to check if any of her house servants were around-they could be a sneaky lot-Sona picked up where her tale had left off in the previous volume.

_Graves moved in close, his strong arms pinning Ezreal to the wall. That gruff, manly musk filling the air, pregnant with desire, around the lithe boy. Kicking the teen's legs apart with ease, Malcolm Graves leaned in, using his left forearm to pin both of the boy's arms above him, utilizing his free hand to reach down and slowly unbutton the Adventurer's pants. Inside was a quite a treat for the outlaw for this girlish looking boy possessed quite the large _

"TUBA!"

"Did you not hear me Miss Buvelle? Your next client has requested that his music have a Tuba noise within it."

_Damnit all to hell Jeffory._ Was all Sona could think. His ability to ghost in to her presence undetected made Sona suspect he had been a cat-burglar in his younger years. Still he could not know of the smut she was creating, her Magnum Opus of man love, wherein Graves Buckshots Ezreal's face in a glorious display of unrequited passion.

Secretively leaning over her typewriter, Sona shoo'd Jeffory away to finish her saga in relative peace. Slowly she began typing, but her groove came back. Biting her lower lip and hunching over, Sona furiously worked to finish what was sure to be her, well Sexton's, best seller. A sick smile came over her face as Sona fell back in to her work.

_Graves slapped Ezreal's face once again, but the cries of pain soon turned in to moans of pleasure as the helpless boy accepted his fate. They fell back in to the hay, it's soft embrace held him in stark contrast to Grave's well developed and rock hard body. Malcolm once again forced a kiss of the boy, his strong tongue writhing like the mighty kraken against Ezreal's soft, pink flesh. All Ezreal could smell now was his musk. A warm, damp smell that filled his head with visions of the man atop him. Was it happening, was he truly betraying Lux for man? Yes, yes he was._

Ezreal managed to work his right hand down to Grave's belt, undoing the simple clasp with his delicate fingers. Moaning once again as he felt the mighty

"Turkey is alright Miss Buvelle?"

Sweet Methuselah, this man was a phantom.

Sona hugged her typewriter, holding it's perverse treasures close to her as she nodded in agreement. If only he would leave her in peace so she could type lewd things for profit.

"I believe it would do the Missus well to take a bath, you seem to have spilled ink across oneself."

Looking down in abject horror with a silent gasp, Sona realized she had hugged the typewriter to closely, getting the still-wet ink across her bodice. Her masterpiece, ruined. Forever lost to the sands of time. She would never meet her deadline now, not with her adoptive mother coming to visit next week.

Resigning herself to failure, Sona took her paper from the typerwriter, smudged ink and all, and threw it in to the fireplace. Dragging her feet slowly up the velvet stairs, she made her way to a lavender scented bath. It was most difficult to think perverted thoughts whilst in a relaxing bath, but Sona managed. Grinning impishly as images danced through her head of Ezreal and Grave's final moments together, Sona drifted off in to a most lecherous dream. She would complete her novel one day, maybe not today, but one day. For now though, her dream was most pleasing.


End file.
